


pearl

by jenneviel



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: Canon Divergence - Post-At World's End (Pirates of the Caribbean), Ghosts, M/M, and barbossa isn't on it, but alive, in the dead way, jack has the pearl, james is dead, little bit of gore, minuscule really, not including anamaria of course, pintel/ragetti if you squint really hard, propriety: gone, the black pearl is sentient, the crew is lowkey stupid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:29:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28350189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenneviel/pseuds/jenneviel
Summary: Jack is caught amidst a peculiar storm.set after AWE.
Relationships: James Norrington/Jack Sparrow
Comments: 9
Kudos: 35





	1. jack

**Author's Note:**

> my first sparrington fic. first potc fic, actually. i would love any feedback you are willing to give. hope you enjoy!

Jack didn’t expect a storm.

Jack didn’t expect a storm, but he probably should have. The winds had been blowing hard ever since dawn, though not hard enough to cause any sort of worry. In fact, it was greatly welcomed, as it urged Jack’s beloved _Pearl_ , heavy and slow with plunder, along.

At midday, the sea breeze picked up fast enough for Jack to notice. Or, he would’ve noticed, had he not been parading about the _Black Pearl’s_ deck holding his fifth bottle of rum. And, well, he would’ve berated at his crew for not noticing, except they were as inebriated as he—this was Jack’s own doing, of course. 

And so when the crew of the pirate ship found themselves in the calm before a storm with no land anywhere in sight, Jack admits it was his fault. He might be a scallywag, but he was a mostly—er, somewhat responsible scallywag, thank you very much. 

Sobered by the threat of danger, Jack stood at the ship’s quarterdeck bellowing orders to his men. As they heaved rope, tied down loose cargo and took down the more delicate sails, Jack spun the steering wheel to sail at an angle. By the time the last cannon was strapped in, the storm had hit at full force. It gave the captain an uneasy, foreboding feeling, one he couldn’t place his dirty finger on. A flash of unnaturally green lightning painted the rainy sky with brilliance, followed by a thunderous boom.

“Green lightning!” exclaimed Gibbs, jaw dropped open in awe. “Dear God! That’s frightfully bad luck, Cap’n! It ain’t natural!” Jack had to agree with him on this one. 

A particularly strong gust of wind blew lanky Ragetti to the floor, knocking his wooden eye and Jack’s sacred tricorn overboard. 

“Bugger!” said Jack, blinking the sudden rush of rain out of his eyes. “Me eye!” wailed Ragetti.

“Captain!” Gibbs shouted over the rain, “Your hat!”

“Aye,” Jack replied mournfully. “‘Twas a good hat. Lasted me a while, it did. ‘Suppose I’ll be needin’ a new one.”

“That should be the least of your worries, Captain,” spat Anamaria from the main deck.

“Have you no sense of ownership for your possessions, Sparrow?” Ooh. That was not Anamaria.

Jack stiffened and looked around with comically wide eyes. The voice was eerie and haunting, echoing loudly from no definite place. It was also damned familiar. 

Green flooded the sky for another split second. Thunder did not follow it. 

A harsh shiver shot up Jack’s spine, accompanied by goosebumps on his cold skin. The voice returned, taunting and bloody infuriating, “What, Sparrow? Scared of a little lightning?”

This time, Jack heard it behind him. He spun around with a flourish of his coat and confirmed his suspicions. Indeed, it was the former Commodore Norrington standing upon his quarterdeck. He looked completely well, save for his bedraggled admiral uniform and lack of wig. Jack would’ve thought him to be human were it not for the gaping sword wound above his heart and jade eyes that were neon, even brighter than the lightning.

“Blimey!” said Gibbs, doing the sign of the cross multiple times. The other pirates stared and copied his actions.

“Norrington,” Jack greeted, forcing his voice to be steady. He couldn’t do much about his racing heart. “Lizzie told me you was dead. I was under the impression you would rest forever in Calypso’s embrace.”

Norrington smirked, and it would’ve been familiar but for the lack of heat behind it. “Indeed, Sparrow. I am dead, but I was not granted the rest you speak of.”

Jack raised an eyebrow and leaned back on his left foot. The rain continued to pour, but he noticed the wind had died down. “An’ why’s that?”

Norrington scoffed. “You are not privy to that information, pirate.”

“Why’re you here, then? To call me names?” Jack paused to consider. “Y’know, I wouldn’t put it past Tia to bring ye to the land of the livin’ jus’ to irritate me.”

“I assure you, the sea goddess has no qualms with you.” Norrington sighed, but an amused smile played on his lips. _Pretty lips. Damned pretty lips._

With a flourish of his wrist, Norrington procured Jack’s recently lost tricorn from thin air. “I do believe this belongs to you.”

“The Cap’n’s hat!” whispered Gibbs, harshly. A few of his men nodded stoically in agreement.

Jack took one big step forward, chin up and staring down at the hat, hesitating. He took a few more quick steps and plucked the tricorn out of the corpse’s hand. He shoved it firmly onto his head.

“Thas’ it, then?” Jack inquired. “You show yer ghostly self to return me hat?” _Hell, why’s he so bleedin’ tall?_

Norrington shrugged carelessly, hands clasped behind his back. “I wasn’t planning on it. I was the one who knocked it off your thick skull in the first place, but she insisted.” He shifted his gaze to Ragetti. “I do apologize for the eye, it was not my intent for you to lose it. However,” he added, suddenly holding something much smaller than a tricorn in his hand, “I hope this can make up for it.” A new wooden eye sailed across the deck and plopped into Ragetti’s hands. He gave it one look and popped it into his socket.

A grin split across his face. “It fits!” he declared. “Thank ye, Mr. Commodore sir.” He and Pintel scuttled off excitedly.

Jack pouted. “Why don’t I get a new hat? And why does Calypso care about me hat?”

The former Commodore shook his head. “Not Calypso, you daft fool. Pearl.”

“Pearl?”

“Yes, Jack, Pearl. The _Black Pearl?_ You’ve only been trying to get her back for a decade.”

Jack opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “You can talk t’her?” Jack thought about every time he himself talked to his _Pearl_ , whispering to her blackened walls and spilling regrets and worries he trusted no one else with. Every time, the ship had swayed softly or creaked gently, as if in response, but Jack always assumed it was his madness catching up to him.

“Sparrow,” Norrington admonished. “You cannot believe a frigate with rips in its sail such as yours would become the fastest ship in the Seven Seas without a little ghoulish help.”

“Yer tellin’ me,” interjected Gibbs, “That the _Pearl_ is still a cursed ship?”

“Not cursed, no. Haunted, by a spirit. She’s quite lovely. I don’t think you deserve her devotion or love, but she insists otherwise.”

The deck squealed loudly. James rolled his eyes with an endearing smile. 

Jack snapped out of his awe and grinned. “Aye, I always knew me _Pearl_ was somethin’ special.” he turned to his crew. “And you lot thought me mad fer treatin’ her proper.”

“Jack,” said Marty. “Ye talked t’her. T’floatin' wood. You can’t expect us t’assume the ship was alive over a mad cap’n.”

The pirate ship rocked just hard enough to send Marty’s small frame on the floor. 

“Thas’ me girl!” Jack flashed his golden teeth and spun back to Norrington. “S’tell me, Norry, why’s it that you c’n show me yer fleshy self and she can’t? I’d love to properly meet my lady.”

“Fleshy?” Norrington shook his head. “Not quite.” He raised an open palm to the dark just as another flash of green split the sky. Jack nearly missed it, captivated by how the Commodore’s eyes glowed, but Norrington’s hand was not quite solid. Or fleshy. Nay, the light revealed his hand to be transparent. 

Gibbs flinched and crossed his heart thrice more. The other pirates followed suit. 

“She has never had a physical form,” Norrington explained. “An anomaly of the universe. She loves excitement, and you, Sparrow, have provided her with more excitement the past few years than she has experienced in centuries.”

Jack stroked the wheel. “Playful, ain’t she?” The _Pearl_ groaned happily, if that were possible. 

Norrington did not reply, though his brow had set in a firm frown. His lips—sweet, kissable lips—twitched. His face went through a variety of emotions, unreadable but not seemingly pleasant. 

He took a step closer to Jack, forcing the pirate to tilt his chin up to look at him. Jack’s cheeks were suddenly cupped in freezing cold palms. He yelped and pulled back, but Norrington’s hands held firm. “I do apologize. Pearl insists,” he sighed. 

“Wha—“ Norrington’s mouth was on Jack’s and he would go as far as saying it was the strangest sensation Jack had ever felt. His lips were deathly cold, the same as his hands, and Jack couldn’t tell if he was kissing solid lips or air. Once he got over the initial shock, the pirate went to hold the Commodore’s head. Instead, his hands phased right through and knocked into each other. A violent shudder shook the both of them and broke the chaste kiss.

“Bloody hell!” Jack gasped. He looked at Norrington, whose nose was adorably scrunched up. “That was unpleasant. Wanna do it again?”

Norrington deadpanned. “Most definitely not. I owed one kiss, and one was quite enough. I think I might die a second time if I ever have pirate hands inside me again.” Jack waggled his eyebrows suggestively, to which the only response was a harsher glare.

“I believe it is about time I take my leave,” the ghost said. “Obviously, in death I have lost all sense of propriety.” He turned away.

“Wait!” Norrington looked back at Jack. “What’s yer name, mate?” 

Norrington frowned. “Why does it matter?”

Jack shrugged. “It don’t seem right t’have been kissed by you and not know yer Christian name.”

Norrington pursed his lips. “James,” he relented. “James Norrington.” He stepped over the edge of the ship and was not followed by a splash of water. A few of Jack’s men rushed to the railing, leaning forward. 

“He’s gone!” one declared.

“James,” Jack murmured with a firm nod. “Good, strong name.” he raised an eyebrow to his crew. “What’re y’all lookin at!” he hollered. “Git off me lady’s side, ya scurvy dogs! Back t’work!”

The wind dwindled to the favorable intensity it was that morning. The clouds parted and the evening sun shone through, but Jack couldn’t help but notice the nearly adorable rain cloud that followed him around and kept a steady downpour on his person.

“Bloody ghost Commodores and their lack of propriety,” the captain muttered.


	2. james

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James's point of view of the previous events.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am ashamed to say this took two months to write. i started this because literally, couldn't resist, mate, but fell into a bit of a depressive state and lost all motivation to do anything. but hey ! i finished it, and it might not be great, but i'm proud of myself and i hope it's somewhat enjoyable.

James awoke very, very disoriented.

He could feel _everything_. He felt the breeze, every tendril of air caressing his very soul. The ocean, crashing down on itself, so vast and deep that James’s human mind struggled to comprehend it. He felt every fish, mammal, plant, and other moving about their habitat, and every secret the depths held dear. 

Even as he was overwhelmed with it all, he dimly recognized what he could not feel. He felt the breeze, yes, but not blowing on his pale skin. He smelled and tasted salt, but had no nose to smell or tongue to taste. He could not feel his body. He saw everything but had no eyes to see it.

_What is happening?_

“Pretty James,” a heavily-accented voice cooed. “It is alright, my dear. Calm yerself.”

 _Calm?_ , he wanted to say, lacking the voice box that was needed. _How in the devil am I supposed to stay calm?_

“Focus,” it said. It was a slightly deeper voice, but James registered its female lilt. “Yes, James. Focus on the feeling of the fingers you once moved, the legs that once walked, the heart that once beat. You are strong, this I know. So strong, so very pure. That’sit, my love.”

James concentrated on the memory of having lungs, filling and draining of air. He imagined his fingers on his piano, moving swiftly and delicately. He remembered how his legs carried him into battle against men and monsters alike. 

He opened his eyes. He flexed his fingers and toes. He gasped for air. His heart did not beat.

“Is this the afterlife?” he croaked. “Somehow, I did not imagine it would be like this.”

“Not exactly, dear.” a dark-skinned woman with long dreadlocks and black paint on her face materialized in front of his face. He startled and tried to take a step back, only to realize he was floating. The strange woman steadied him.

“You are in the land between the living and the dead,” she continued. “A dead soul living.”

James felt dizzy. “Why? Why me?”

She smiled softly. “You are a pure soul, James Norrington. Among the purest I have ever met. There was no doubt you would rest peacefully. Heaven, as you call it. But in Heaven, the best that is offered are illusions.”

“Illusions?” James repeated. 

“Aye, illusions. The man who loved another’s wife but chose not to commit adultery will spend his afterdays with her. In her afterlife, she spends it with her husband and children.”

“That sounds terrible,” James muttered.

“Do not fret—they are unaware. Ignorance is bliss, and bliss they shall have. You, my dear, are a bit out of the ordinary.”

His curiosity peaked. “How?”

“Your true love is the ocean,” she said, grinning. “And the ocean you would have. However, it will not be right to give you a fraud. Not after your devotion, not after all the good you have done.”

“I really didn’t—”

“Life did not treat you fairly,” she powered through. “I hope that death will treat you better.”

“I truly did not do anything remarkable,” James insisted. “I was commodore at a young age, yes, and I loved sailing, but that does not invoke special treatment.”

“You are right,” she agreed. “But your bravery as midshipman, lieutenant, captain, commodore, and even admiral saved countless lives. Not to mention a particular good deed led to my freedom.” 

James’s face must have betrayed his curiosity. “You saved the pirate captain. You could have easily left him to the gallows, but instead, Witty Jack escaped right under all the eyes of Port Royal. Indeed, you sacrifice yourself always for the wellbeing of others. If I could, I would bring you back, give you a second chance at life.” she glared. “But you were too ready to die, to face uncharted waters. You at peace, though it was not your time to go. Instead, I offer this: a chance to roam the waters freely, no duty or responsibility to hold you down. To be with what you want, but not as what you were. Do you accept, James Norrington?”

James was horribly overwhelmed, and the future was uncertain. He did not have control anymore.

He looked at the woman. “Yes. I accept.”

She smiled knowingly. “One year,” she said. “One year, you will live as a force of nature. One year to master your new body. When the time is up, I will ask you this once more. If you do not accept, you will go to your Heaven. If you do,” she paused. “We will discuss.”

James nodded. Just before the strange woman left, James called out, “What do I call you?”

She turned back. “Calypso is my name. You may call me Tia Dalma.”

\---

Six months later and James thought himself much more well-versed in the ways of his supernatural life. Or lack of life, he supposes. 

He was no longer scared of his incorporeal form. He does not lose grasp of his corporeal one and spiral into panic anymore, nor does he release accidental hurricanes on unsuspecting sailors. He couldn’t help but get excited whenever he encountered humans. Fortunately, none have been harmed gravelly. 

He also found that his physical, human body was more opaque than it was in the first months, though the gaping stab wound from Bill Turner’s blade never left (he was given quite a shock once he noticed it). He could spend hours holding his hand to the sun and staring at the bones and useless veins through his transparent skin.

Being a ghost was strange: he never felt hungry, thirsty, or tired. Sometimes he found himself wanting the delicious peach tarts Mrs. Johnson used to bake for him, or the bottle of whiskey he had in his wine cabinet. Or just simply a nap. Not because he needed it, but because he wanted to enjoy the simple pleasures of life again. Unfortunately, his self-imposed honor prevented him from stealing food or water from ships, and salt water wasn’t appetizing in the least—truthfully, it didn’t feel right when he felt himself to be part of the ocean. When he tried to sleep, he only stayed unconscious for about two hours (his current record).

It was a strange way of living, but the fact that he was living amazed him to no end. In a bout of gratefulness and humbleness, James found himself happily enjoying the bright day as nothing more but a passing breeze. It was incredibly freeing, as Tia Dalma said, without duty or responsibility holding him down. Or flesh, for that matter.

He partially reformed to look at clear, sparkling water through human eyes. So pretty, so blue, blue, blue… black?

James squinted. It was too far to truly tell what it was, but a black speck sat right on the junction where the sky and sea met. James perked up.

Oh, he cherished his new life, he really did, but there was nothing to do. No books to read, no letters to open, no sword to swing, and alright, he was perhaps somewhat a bit lonely, because there were no bloody people to talk to!

He was curious, that’s all. And bored.

He picked up speed and shot towards the black dot. 

\---

The _Black Pearl._

It was _the_ Black Pearl.

There was no doubt about it now: the patched-up black sails, blackened hull, and utter noise coming from the ship. It was absolutely terrible, and James was positively beaming with excitement. 

Perhaps he shouldn’t be so enthusiastic in seeing a pirate ship, especially the one that had basically ruined his life. However, James had long come to terms with his own decisions—he can mourn for his fallen comrades, but blaming himself or Jack Sparrow was pointless. Besides, he had long wished to reconnect with his old life, and if this was the first thing he gets then he’ll take it with no complaints. 

It was near noon when James approached the ship, caressing alongside the hull. He marveled at how fast the ship moved, even so low in the water. He couldn’t explain it, but James felt a certain kinship with the _Pearl._

He pushed her sails, wanting to see just how fast she can go. Simultaneously, he breezed past the laughing, dancing, and drunk pirates. He heard the tinkling of beads and other trinkets clanking against each other and retreated to the mizzenmast, reforming to stand upon the yard of the top mast sail. He hoped the black sail and his translucency combined with the pirates’ inebriation would be enough to hide him.

His unnatural viridescent eyes scanned the deck, catching sight of many pirates he recognized. The older man, Mr. Cotton, who did not speak for quite obvious reasons but was friendly companionship; his parrot was another story. Mr. Gibbs, the ex-navy man who was the closest thing he had to a friend during his time aboard the pirate ship. The dwarf whose name he couldn’t remember—he was quite rude anyway. With reason, of course, but that didn’t stop James from pouting slightly at the sight of him. 

James’s line of vision finally landed on the captain. Jack Sparrow, standing on the quarterdeck in all of his drunken glory. Flapping his hands outrageously and looking like he should’ve fallen over already. His mouth moved at alarming speeds, and—oh—he looked absolutely hilarious tumbling down the stairs. The pirate stood up dazedly, adjusting his tricorn and smiling dopily. He threw his head back and took a swig from his bottle—rum, no doubt—and fell once more on his back.

It was enough to shock laughter out of James. He covered his mouth to muffle the surprising sound, forgetting to hold onto the mast, and lost his footing. He landed on his back and got the air knocked out of him (ironic, really). In a blink of an eye, he dematerialized and relocated at the ship’s rudder. 

Before he could contemplate the series of events that just unfolded, a female voice called out: _James Norrington!_

Not call out, exactly. The sound emanated from the ship herself, eerily and with an echo. It didn’t feel human, more… more like himself.

“Who’s there!” he called back, looking around uselessly. “Show yourself!”

 _Oh, you’re daft,_ she said. _I think I like you better drunk._

James faltered. “You’re a part of his crew?”

A sound so bright and joyful rung out it brought a small smile to James’s face. _You could say that._

A loud creak from the Pearl stole his attention and he witnessed the masts turn by themselves against the wind.

Realization dawned upon him. “You… you’re the _Pearl_?”

 _Not so daft after all_ , she teased.

It was strange, talking to someone like him. Not living in the way humans do. They talked and talked and James learned so much in how the world—the _universe_ , there are more _things_ out there, how fascinating is that—works, and why Pearl, as he had taken to calling her, to her absolute delight, was so loyal to Captain Jack Sparrow. 

It was not before long when James felt the thrill of mischief tingle through his limbs. There he was, the pirate scoundrel, bane of his existence, standing right there. With the stick up his navy arse long been removed, he sped up his winds without hesitation.

 _Don’t you damage me or my crew_ , Pearl warned.

James smirked. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

So he flew faster and faster, impressed with the pirates’ drunk ignorance. He watched Captain Sparrow snap out of his drunken stupor at the feel of rain on his face and bellow orders at his equally inebriated men. Somewhat impressive, James could admit.

He poured rain down on the ship, ignoring Pearl’s grumbles of being wet yet again. He kept the waves tame to the best of his ability and watched the outlaws scramble about the ship.

Perhaps he had a problem. It was funny, though.

Either way, James felt sort of amazing. It was the first time he purposely started up a storm, and letting loose put him in his element. The thrill of freedom had him laughing in a way he never did when he was alive. 

Flashes of green startled James out of his merriment. Green lightning? His, no doubt. He’s never created lightning before, and the electric shock he felt at every bolt was foreign but strangely comforting. He figured as long as he kept it far from the ship, it would do perfectly in scaring the pirates. Mr. Gibbs must be losing his mind over it. 

He caught sight of Sparrow behind the wheel, stroking the handles subconsciously. James snickered and sent a gust of wind his way, knocking the ridiculous tricorn overboard. The wind was stronger than he had intended and he winced as the lanky pirate’s wooden eye flew over as well. 

_Norrington!_

He blinked. “My apologies.”

_You return Jack’s hat right now or I swear I’ll curse you so terribly not even the demons of hell would want to associate with you!_

“I—” he coughed awkwardly. “Alright, alright. I’ll get it. How am I supposed to return it, place it back on his dirty head?”

Pearl considered. _No. You will hand deliver it. And the eye as well. No, get Ragetti a better eye!_

James scoffed. “Where on earth am I supposed to get him a new eye?”

_You manifest winds and rain and lightning. A single wooden eye shouldn’t be so hard._

So, with great hesitance, James set off to retrieve the hat and nonexistent eye. The hat was retrieved easily enough, but the eye—good God.

James silently plucked the shiny new wooden eye out of the water.

Facing Jack Sparrow once again was peculiar, to say the least. The pirate captain was the same as always: slurred yet perfectly understandable speech, a drunken gait that looked infinitely more graceful at sea, dreadlocks longer and adorned with more trinkets than from when James last saw him, and dark, calculating and wary eyes that (quite literally) saw right through him. 

And then— _Kiss him._

_I beg your pardon?_

Pearl snickered. _You know you want to._

_I do not!_

_Sure. Do it for me, then. My captain needs to know how much I appreciate him, savvy? Kiss him._

_I—_

_You owe me._

James took a step forward and cupped Jack’s defined face in his hands, fighting hard to not physically react at the feeling of human flesh in his palms after so long. “I do apologize,” he began. “Pearl insists.”

It was strange, to say the least. He had never kissed a man before, and he certainly never had to make sure he didn’t phase right through the person he was kissing. Once the instinctual fear of _oh dear God, this is treason, I’m going to be hanged for this_ , sorted itself out, it was… quite enjoyable.

Of course, the relentless teasing that came afterward put him in a bit of a foul mood.

Nothing a little pesky raincloud couldn’t alleviate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy valentines day !


End file.
